Music
by Sophia2012
Summary: Series of one-shots based on songs. Mainly Neal/Sara, but definitely other characters too.


Hi guys!

I LOVE music, it's a very important part of my life (and I don't even care how cliché that sounds right now) and so I listen to a lot of it, all the time.

There are a few songs out there that constantly remind me of Neal and Sara: about certain scenes that we've seen already, but also about what could happen between them because a particular part of the song is so typical for one of them or for their relationship.

So! Instead of keeping it all in my head and going over and over it again every time I hear a certain song, I've decided to put pen to paper and write those stories down.

This isn't going to be a continuing story (so there will be no chronological order), but more a series of one-shots that were inspired by a certain song. For each chapter – or rather; story – I will give you the needed info in order to understand the story.

Please do note that since this is not a continuing story, I will probably update less. I do promise, however, that when I have finished another one-shot, I will post it asap. BUT my continuing stories will remain my priorities. Hope you can understand.

Other than that: Hope you enjoy and hope you review! Thnx!

Soph

* * *

**Chapter 1: Takes place after Judgement Day; Neal is gone.**

Adele – Don't You Remember

When will I see you again?  
You left with no goodbye,  
Not a single word was said.  
No final kiss to seal anything,  
I had no idea of the state we were in.

I know I have a fickle heart

and a bitterness  
and a wondering eye  
and a heaviness in my head

But don't you remember?  
Don't you remember?  
The reason you loved me before?  
Baby please remember me once more

When was the last time you thought of me?  
Or have you completely erased me from your memories?  
Cause I often think about where I happen to roam  
The more I do, the less I know

I know I have a fickle heart

and a bitterness  
and a wondering eye  
and a heaviness in my head

But don't you remember?  
Don't you remember?  
The reason you loved me before?  
Baby please remember me once more.

I gave you the space so you could breathe  
I kept my distance so you would be free  
I hoped that you find the missing piece, to bring you back to me

Why don't you remember?  
Don't you remember?  
The reason you loved me before?  
Baby please remember me once more

When will I see you again?

* * *

It has been three months now. Three months since her last interrogation. Three months since she, Peter or the FBI have heard anything from him. It's been three months and she is so over it.

Why aren't they?

Why is that damned SUV still following her and why does she feel eyes burning in her back every time she's on the move?

Do they really think she could be the link to finding Caffrey? Do they honestly believe they were ever that close? That their relationship was so important or significant to him, that he would jeopardize his freedom and contact her?

Sara, inwardly, rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of that. She had gotten so good at ignoring the twist the knife made in her back, that she barely even noticed it. After all, she was so over it.

She balanced her bags of groceries between her embrace while fumbling with the keys to her front door.

After stepping into her apartment, she gave the door a shove with her hip and heard it click in its lock. Sara kicked off the fine Italian leather that had supported her feet that entire day and continued towards the kitchen on her bare feet - finding the hard, cold, marble tiles of her apartment a strangely comfortable feeling.

She placed the bags on the kitchen counter and let go of yet another heavy breath. Damn it! It was still there. The heavy weight that seemed strung to her heart and insisted on pulling it under.

"Ugh!" she groaned in frustration.

This doesn't make any freaking sense! Why on Earth would – should – she be upset? Isn't this her own big, fat fault? Hasn't she seen this coming? Hasn't she warned herself?

Yes, yes and yes!

Then why do her muscles feel betrayal's stings pierce through them? Why does hurts' hammer keep drumming inside her head?

Making a last minute adjustment to her dinner plans, Sara walks over to the cupboard and pulls out a wineglass. She pulled the Lafite out of one of the bags and made her way over to her living room, where files of one of her cases were already sprawled out on the table.

She smiled contently to herself; glad to have found the perfect distraction.

Three glasses of wine, a Snickers and four hours later, Sara was studying the white paint on her bedroom ceiling. From time to time something would momentarily block the light from one of the street lanterns and cause an elegant dance between light and shadow moving from her ceiling to her wall.

She drew a breath, held it in for a moment and finally sighed; was she honestly going to do something she never does? Was she just going to let things roll and not to try and make sense of it? Was she just going to give up?

Yes. She decided. The constant wave of frustration – in its turn caused by a larger pool of emotions; anger, hurt, betrayal…sadness – was exhausting.

Things are what they are and instead of overanalyzing everything – every touch, every kiss, every moment they shared – she was going to let the past be and focus on the present.

Besides, he wasn't even worth it. Neal was a conman, she'd seen this coming; it's what he does. He's off doing whatever he pleases with whomever he pleases, just like he did with her.

You don't see Neal sulking around his – most probable – beach mansion, now do you? No. So why should she?

She let out a smirk at the thought, trying to cover up the sudden upbeat of her heart, motored by the twinge of anger she felt surfacing. No, he most definitely wasn't and she more than definitely shouldn't.

* * *

Somewhere else, a distance of thousands of miles and a difference of five hours, Neal was studying the sea's shades of blues. The gentle breeze played tag with his hair and taught his linen shirt to tickle his skin. The constant flowing of waves kept his feet pleasantly cool as he was standing on the beach, hands in his pockets.

It took some time, took some getting used to and took some adjustments, but this was now his home. New York City noises have been replaced by the hypnotic sounds of crashing waves. Late night sirens are gone and instead exotic music and laughter fill the silence of the nights. His slim fitted, three-piece suits are just vague memories, instead his everyday wardrobe exists of linen or cotton items.

Everything has been replaced. Some people, no actually; most people would say for the better. Hell, just two years ago, he would have been one of them.

Everything was lighter here, brighter and happier. Everything - but him. He was still feeling like the dark cloud raining on everybody's parade, including his own.

Because, if he had to be honest with himself – and he had to be, there was no one else – things _weren't_ better. They weren't lighter or brighter or happier.

There was no Peter here. No Elizabeth. No June. No Diana or Jones or the 21st floor on a Monday morning.

No Sara.

Why did he waste so much time thinking about her? Why couldn't he just let go, like she probably has done? No, not probably; definitely. She wasn't wasting one single brain cell on him. And why should she? He hasn't exactly been fair to her. First she kept the treasure secret for him – something he knew must have gone against every fiber in her being. Then she risks her job and her reputation to keep Kramer and/or jail time off his back. And then he leaves.

To say Neal felt guilty would be an understatement. But more than that, he felt…longing. A longing to make things right, to prove to her that she was wrong about him, that he never intended to use her. Most of all, though, he just longed for her.

For the puzzling hazel in the hypnotizing green. For the smile and the laugh. For the good times and the fun. For her touch, her kiss…

Stop it!

It's over and what's done is done. Even if he tried, she wouldn't have any of it. Any of him. It was his choice, he'll have to deal with a consequences.

All he could do was hope. Hope that someday, she'll be able to look back and maybe the good memories would outweigh the bad. Maybe, one day, she'll remember that there was a time where she could stand him, where she even liked him and being around him, where she maybe have even felt a resemblance of love.

Yes, let's hope.

* * *

It's been nine months now. Nine months since Peter had called her and told her he was back. It's been nine months since the call and a full year since she's last seen him, and she didn't care anymore.

Why did they?

Why did Elizabeth keep looking at her like she was missing something? Why did Peter always try to steer their conversation topic to his partner? Why had they almost seemed sympathetic towards her when she bumped into them on the street tonight, being walked home by her date?

They were the Burke's, she loved them and she knew they only wanted what's best for her, but they could be very frustrating some times.

At least they haven't tried to force anything – like a 'coincidental' rendezvous – so she guesses she should be thankful for that.

Sara shifted to lie on her left side, turning her back towards her current bed partner, and flipped her pillow – preferring the cold surface. She closed her eyes and forced herself to think about tomorrow. About her case and where her source would lead her and slowly but surely, she drifted off to sleep.

The next day, Sara started to have serious doubts about this lead: Why on Earth would she need to go to South Bronx? Against her better judgment, she decided to check it out nonetheless: After all, she had her gun. She called for a cab just before leaving her office.

She checked, double checked and even triple checked the address, to her dismay, however, she was at the right place. In front of her was an abandoned factory, the top windows had been smashed and were now covered with a thick, black plastic. The outside walls were covered in graffiti and the entire building just looked old and run down.

She felt incredibly out of place: Her black pencil skirt accentuated her curves and ended in a perfect fit around her waist, where her taupe satin top finished clothing her upper body. She looked down at her feet – covered in high, black Italian peeptoes with matching, taupe lining and straps – and cursed herself for the way she's dressed for this.

She stood out against the general brown and gray shades that dominated the neighborhood. All she wanted to do was get inside, get her next lead and get the hell out. But she didn't know what was inside just yet.

She drew a deep breath and held it, "Okay, I can do this," she nodded to herself in encouragement and let go of the breath she kept trapped in her throat.

Putting her hand in her bag and placing it over her gun, she set foot towards the entrance.

"Sara?"

Stop.

For a blip of a second, it all stopped then: her legs stopped moving, her heart stopped beating and the world stopped turning.

She slapped herself mentally, forcing her to recompose. She turned around and faced the figure that went along with the voice.

"Caffrey?" Though her initial intention was to sound casual and light, surprise – or shock – stubbornly took the upper hand.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I.. We, uh, we're working on a case." What the hell was going on? "You?"

"Same..." A frown appeared on her forehead as she suspiciously eyed him sideways. All the while still trying to determine how long she could hold his gaze without it becoming awkward. Well, more awkward. God, it was good to see those eyes; her memories did not do them justice.

"Strange…"

"Very." She agreed.

"Did you come here alone?" It wasn't his place, he knew that, but what the hell was she thinking coming here on her own, dressed like… that! A freaking supermodel. A _rich_ supermodel.

Before the worry in his tone had wormed it's way into her heart, Sara straightened her back and lifted her head. She was going to show him how little right he had to worry, "Yes, I did. I can take care of myself." She stared him down, implying the 'been doing just fine without you' part.

Neal took in her words with an upward tilt of his head: Fair enough. Maybe he should try a different angle.

"It's good to see you," he wasn't lying, in fact there was nothing but sincerity radiating from his mind and it even surprised him.

"Thank you, you too," it was so much easier to be mean when he wasn't looking at her like that. Like he knows her and still wants her.

"Well, I have to get back to work," she gestured towards the building behind her and started walking backwards, enlarging the distance between them, "Take care." Her voice was easier to control this time. But, putting all her effort into sounding polite, she barely had control over her face and she could only imagine how conflicted she must look. Damn it.

Neal's brows relaxed and he half smiled at her; could it be possible she still cared? Well, either way she was nice enough to not bite his head off.

Or was lack of passionate anger the sign of her _not _caring anymore?

"Yeah, you too." He followed her movements with his eyes and he caught himself wishing he could fill the empty space next to her.

Sara could feel his gaze scanning her every move and it irritated her endlessly. Or was it the secret joy it gave her, that irritated her? Or the fact that she really, truly, _was_ glad to see him, that irritated her? Well, whatever, she was irritated. On top of that, she heard his footsteps tracing hers only five seconds later. What the…?

She swiftly turned around, "Are you following me?" the disbelieving indignation taking place in both her voice and her expression.

"No," he shook his head and quickly continued when he saw her lips part for whatever mistaken conclusion lay on the tip of her tongue, "I have to be there too," he gestured to the building.

Sara somewhat relaxed at that; it wasn't the first time the FBI's and her paths crossed.

"So where's the rest of the team?" Was it weird that she hoped they were just here around the corner? It would definitely make her feel saver.

"Peter's in the car," he explained, "calling for backup."

Sara gave a short and quick nod, "Okay," her simple reply sounded.

"Well, I'm gonna go, see ya." She waved at him halfheartedly and continued towards the abandoned building.

"Wait," Neal hurried over to her side – a blinding grin already in place, "I'll go with."

Sara instantly felt how the pride inside her challenged the longing for a long and complicated fight. She sighed and decided to give in to both of them: She didn't object, but she made sure to let him know she wasn't any happier about it.

Neal strutted they last two steps towards the building to open the door for Sara. He all but took off his hat to use it in a gesture to guide her inside.

'_Gah!'_ Sara thought. As if having him graze her skin every now and then wasn't bad enough, he had to play the gentleman, too. But, Sara decided, things were different this time. This time, she knows his game. This time, her senses are alert.

She wouldn't let him know what was going on in her mind though. She took his chivalry with an appreciating nod and an approving smile and stepped inside – in total darkness.

The door clicked in its lock as soon as Neal stepped in, faced, also, with total blackness. His hand searched to find the body that was responsible for Sara's breathing and he felt how his heart relaxed a little when he found her standing only a few inches away from him.

Their fingers grazed and Sara – not only shocked by the sudden touch in the darkness, but by the sparks it sent down her spine – instantly pulled her hand away.

"Neal?"

"Yeah?"

"What the hell is this place?"

"I don't know," he admitted, hoping he could mask his own anxiety as to not scare Sara more, "let's just go back outside and wait for back up."

Neal had barely finished his sentence or they heard the door being locked from the outside. Sara's hand fluttered to her beating heart, hoping somehow to calm it down.

"Don't worry," he assured her, "I have my picks."

But again, his sentence was nearly out in the open, or they heard something being shoved against the door, barricading it.

"Do you have anything stronger than picks?" Sara had no idea how she was still able to joke at this point. She could feel the echoes of her racing heartbeat drum in her throat, her legs, her hands… practically all over her body.

She heard him smile and the beat her heart missed at that, allowed her to calm down a little.

Suddenly, a second of total blindness was caused, not by darkness, but by the bright lights being turned on. They both groaned in complaint and their arms flew to protect their eyes from the piercing white.

After blinking two or three times to adjust to the light, both had to blink a couple more times to adjust to what was right in the center of the building.

"Oh-my-God," Sara all but yelled, "What, you think you can just use me whenever you please? Stop wasting my time, Caffrey!"

"Sara, I-" this was going to be awkward… "I didn't do this."

She narrowed her eyes and scanned his face. There was… something… off. His eyes were larger with innocence; she knew his practiced innocence well enough now to know when it was fake and when it was real. He was honest. Seriously? He didn't do this? Then what the hell was going on?

"Oh.." she looked down, embarrassment making her head almost too heavy to carry.

"I mean, I would have… If I thought you would…" He left both sentences open for her to fill in the blanks. Or maybe he just didn't finish them out of fear of rejection? Ugh, why did he even bother? She wasn't listening _or_ believing.

She wouldn't meet his eyes, deciding that it was easier to listen to reason when it wasn't under Neal's melting rays of dizzying blues. Instead, Sara just looked at the scene in front of her: A round dinner table set for two. There was an off-white table curtain draped over it, hovering just an inch above the ground. A smaller, golden cloth was placed upon it and that, too, was covered with an even smaller off-white cover. There was wine and glasses that went with it, there were two plates covered with shiny, silver cloches, there were two off white chairs with matching cushions, there were candles and a cart on the other side of the table, probably containing much more items.

"Welcome!" The voice seeming to come from everywhere had both Neal and Sara startled and pulled them back to reality.

"Moz?" Neal raised his voice in surprise.

"Yes, it is I," though his voice seemed to ooze out of every corner of the building, Mozzie was nowhere to be seen.

"And I!"

"Peter?" It was Sara's turn to portray her surprise.

"Sshhtt!" Mozzie's voice sounded low, but urgent, towards Peter. There were some fumbling noises – Neal and Sara assumed the men were fighting over the microphone, especially after hearing their squirmy and soft argument in the background.

"Anyway, welcome friends!"

"Moz, Peter, whoever; what the hell is going on?"

"Stop interrupting and I'll explain," Mozzie sounded indignantly, "Before you, you will find the perfect way to reconnect. To remember and move forward. Together, that is, in case that wasn't clear. Also-"

"Gimme that," Peter's tone sounded annoyed and was followed by more fumbling noises: Peter had taken over the microphone.

"We can sit here all day and guide you two through everything, but I think it's pretty obvious, even for you two kumquats. Fact is, you're not getting out until exactly this time tomorrow – and Caffrey, unless you have a bulldozer somewhere in that cufflink, don't even think about picking the locks. You will find all you need for food and sleep in the cart or in the lockers in the back room."

There was a brief moment of silence and then Peter sounded proudly; "There, it's all said." Both Neal and Sara could imagine the broad smile that usually accompanied that tone of voice.

"I was getting there, Suit. Patience is a virtue," Mozzie's voice sounded in the background, then, much louder: "Alright, arrivederci!"

With a click, both voices were gone and the only sounds left where the silent echoes of the shock, surprise, anger and indignation they were feeling.

"Alright, there's got to be another way out," Sara's determination was the first to break the silence and it was quickly followed by the echoing sounds of her heels pounding on the concrete floor.

"There isn't," Neal was almost embarrassed to admit that, as much as he would enjoy a dinner with Sara, this was definitely not the way he'd want it.

"Yeah? How would you know?" She stubbornly tried to get the door to open, against her better judgment. Of course, it wouldn't even budge.

Neal sighed; Great, just great. Not only had his two best friends conned him and was he now stuck, he was now stuck with the Sara he met when she was after him for the Raphael. Not to mention that any chance of them ever reconciling, even as friends, was now probably shot. She was not going to forget this. What the hell were Mozzie and Peter thinking? Don't they know Sara?

"I saw the plans, Peter handed them over like a routine prep. All the exits have been chain locked to prevent squatting," he let out an annoyed breath, "I should have suspected something when the front entrance was open."

"Yeah, you should have," Sara bit back as she slammed her annoyance at the door and turned away from it. Facing Neal she now realized how she must have sounded. Not only was she not being fair, she was on very thin ice; laying out her emotions like that… What the hell was she thinking? Take control!

"And so should I," she amended, her voice softer, "I'm sorry, I'm just…" she let out a breath, trying to figure out just exactly what she was. Mad? Definitely. At Neal, or at Peter and Mozzie? She didn't know. Annoyed? Hell yes. With Neal, or Peter and Mozzie? Again, she didn't know.

"Frustrated?" He finished for her.

"Yes!"

Neal nodded in understanding. He still felt like he owed her more truth, though.

"Sara, I want you to know… I had nothing to do with this, I swear." He tilted his shoulder backwards, referring to the dinner table.

Sara bit her tongue gently; she knew he was being honest, she just didn't know if she should let him know that she knew. And then she remembered they were stuck for the next 24 hours and she had no energy to keep riding the emotional roller coaster for so long.

"I know," she admitted, "Thank you."

Neal gave a slight nod, appreciating her thanks, and then silence surrounded them again.

Finally, Sara took a breath and set foot towards the backroom, completely ignoring the dinner-scene, "Well, since we're stuck, I could definitely use some sleep and 24 hours of rest doesn't really sound that bad right now." What else was she going to do? Have dinner and be all touchy flirty? No, thank you.

"Sara.." His impulsiveness had her name out in the open before his reason could sprinkle doubt on his thoughts.

"Yes?" she turned around, they were no standing on opposite sides of the table.

Okay, now reason has had enough time to plant all the doubt it possibly could. What did he get himself into?

"I just want to… say I'm sorry, for-" He started closing the distance, he wanted her to look clearly into his eyes and be sure he wasn't playing games.

"Neal," she interjected, "stop it, okay? It's been a year, what's done is done and… we should just forget about everything."

"Everything?" His voice was stripped from all playfulness and bravado.

Sara took a moment to consider the double meaning; it was hard, but if that's what she had to do, she would do it.

"Everything."

They were only a few steps away now and Neal could feel the tension fill the air around them.

"What if I can't?"

"We have to."

Her stern and controlled voice had strapped a tight belt around his throat and he had to swallow hard.

"If that's what you want.."

Was he serious? Is he really putting the guilt in her shoes?

"Neal, it's not about what I want," her calm and cool control was nowhere to be signaled, "Don't you get it? It's never been about what _I _want. Everything we had, if it even was anything, was about what _you_ wanted. What _you_ needed."

Her words were a slap to his face; it hurt.

"Do you honestly believe that?"

"Think about it, from the very first day when you used my fake death to get your hands on that FAA tape and then broke into my apartment, till the very last when I risked my career to get Kramer off your back."

"I _never_ asked you to do that," if she could play dirty, so could he.

Sara let out a huff, "You didn't have to. I was willing because I honestly thought you had changed and I believed you deserved a second chance, the one Kramer wasn't willing to give you. In the end it didn't matter what I believed, though, I was wrong and you… You left," though her rant had started with a quick and angry pace, her last words were simple and soft. It surprised her how much she was giving away. How the lid that was pressed down so tightly for so long, had opened so easily and the content was spilling out.

Though hard to hear, her words had left Neal feeling a little… hopeful, maybe. If anything, her words proved that she still cared. Good. He could definitely use that knowledge. He cleared his expression from the frustration he was feeling and took half a step closer.

"You weren't wrong, Sara. I have changed. Well, _something_ inside me changed," he amended admittingly with a quick half-smile and took Sara's silence as a sign to take another shuffle towards her, "I never intended to leave. I couldn't, I had too much to lose; Peter, El, June, my job… You." He sincerely hoped he wasn't going to regret admitting that. But as Sara looked up after hearing his words, he knew he was halfway there.

Sara swallowed hard. His words echoed in her mind and she knew she couldn't trust her judgment anymore. So she decided that she would just hope that he wasn't playing games now. But even if he wasn't, would that really change anything?

"Neal," she started and her voice was almost a pleading one, though she had no idea what she was pleading for. No more games, maybe? Or was it secretly the hope that her hope of them reuniting wasn't a false one? "Even so, things are what they are. In the end, you _did_ leave."

"I know," there was no other reply to that, than the confirmation, "Can't we move past that? Start over?"

"Honestly? I don't know how."

He took a moment to assess her mood, but after looking into her eyes a little longer than needed, he concluded that she wasn't going to spit fire anytime soon.

He glanced over towards the beautifully set table and with a confident half smile and questioning eyes, he asked: "How about starting with dinner?"

At that, a smile graced Sara's lips; if not at his almost foolish attempt, then at the irony of Mozzie and Peter's plans actually working.

Before Sara could answer, a growl originating from her stomach had agreed to Neal's offer. They both let out a chuckle at that and inwardly thanked Sara's stomach for the icebreaker.

"I'll take that as a yes," Neal laughed and walked over to the table to pull out a chair for Sara. He took place across from her on the table and they remained in their seats for the following hours. Slowly, but surely melting the thick layer of ice that had covered their once warm relationship.

* * *

I'm usually not one for the hopelessly romantic gestures, buuuttt… I dunno, the story kinda took me there, I guess…

Hope you like and please review!

Soph


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